


Mine to Conquer

by littlechinesedoll



Series: Yours to Destroy [2]
Category: Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Alpha Clark Kent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Beta Damian Wayne, Cheating, Dark, Detention, F/M, Forced Bonding, Imprisonment, Infidelity, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Mpreg, Murder, Omega Bruce Wayne, Stockholm Syndrome, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlechinesedoll/pseuds/littlechinesedoll
Summary: “A human omega? Carrying a Kryptonian child?” the revelation piques Brainiac’s interest in studying the compatibility of human and Kryptonian DNA, and see how the yellow sun will affect a half-breed. “Find Kal-El’s mate and bring them to me. I shall take the child from this omega’s womb and study it,”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW I SAID NO SEQUEL BUT I DID SAY THAT THERE MIGHT BE ONE AFTER I PLAY INJUSTICE 2 SO HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU ENJOY
> 
> ### This work is dedicated to mitzvahmelting.

The bell rings, loud enough to wake even the dead.

It’s 7 in the morning.  

Damian gingerly opens his eyes and hears his tray of breakfast slide into his cell. The metal roof of his cell slides open, letting the sun in through unbreakable glass. He squints and pulls the blanket over his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. Even after months of being here, he’s still not used to the sun.

“Hey,” he hears one of the guards with better character, personality, and tone of voice than others, knock on the glass wall of his cell. “You know they’ll take the tray away in an hour if you don’t eat it,”

He doesn’t particularly care if they take it or not, but Damian has learned that he won’t get anything at all, even for days, if the guards notice he’s not eating. Some of the crueler ones dump the food in front of him, wasting it, then asks someone to clean it up.

He guesses he deserves it.

He kicks the blankets off and tries to look up at the sky. The sun isn’t as unforgiving this morning and it looks like it will rain. He takes the tray and goes for the coffee first. He’s not hungry yet, but he eats. Buttered slices of bread, scrambled eggs, a cup of black coffee, and a glass of orange juice. Sometimes it’s jammed bread and oatmeal with a glass of milk. Far from the spread Pennyworth used to make. Far from what the cooks of the Watchtower and Metrotower had available any time of the day. But he’s not at Wayne Manor, or any of the fortresses the Regime used to have.

Solitary confinement isn’t as bad as he thought it would be, maybe because sometimes, he’s got guards that don’t treat him like the scum that he is.

“I think you’ll like the weather today,” says the guard as Damian munches on the toast. “The sky’s darkening pretty quick. It hasn’t rained in a while so it’s nice,”

Damian doesn’t say anything and finishes the food. He slides the tray back to the access panel by the wall and lies back down on the bed, hands behind his head. The clouds look heavy and dark, and lightning flashes before a clap of thunder vibrates the glass just a tiny bit, and then the rain starts to pour.

One, three, five, ten drops of water hit the glass, and suddenly it’s full on raining. The guard is right. Damian has always loved rain. He loves the way he can turn the relaxing sound into something he can use against criminals, back when he was a fraction of a decent human being.

The rain makes Damian think.

He thinks of the times when he shared a cup of cocoa with…family. When the rain starts to pour, everybody shimmies into their favorite jammies and sweaters, and invites everyone to curl up by the fire, and watches the rain hit the windows.

It’s not something Damian will ever experience again.

The rain makes Damian wish a lot of things. He wishes he didn’t make the decisions he made.

* * *

The cell she’s in is different, in some ways, from the cell her mother had imprisoned Ares in. Instead of a door with a small window, she’s actually in a jail cell, underground, three walls made of several feet thick of stone and thick, iron bars in front of her. It’s enough to hold her in since she doesn’t carry the strength of the gods with her anymore. The gifts bestowed upon her are hers no more. (1)

One of the guards kicks the tray into the cell. The soup sloshes in the bowl, tipping into the tray and onto the bread it came with. The bowl of water almost falls, but it balances itself back up.

Diana looks up, expecting the usual guard to relieve the one who was assigned the night before. Instead she sees Artemis, her general. At least, she had been. Hippolyta reclaimed the throne and she stripped of her title and any right to the Amazon throne.

Her bracelets were replaced with binds that renders her mortal. She is still protected by the island’s magic from the ravages of time and will server her punishment for the remainder of her life. She’d been a warrior princess. A cell is no place for her.

“Finally come to visit?” Diana takes the bread and bites into it. At least it’s fresh.

“Please,” Artemis scoffs. “If it weren’t an order, I’d rather let you rot in here without any guests at all,”

“Oh, and what did mother say?” Diana leans back on the stone wall.

“Make sure that you’re still rotting in here,” answers the general. “Not her specific words but that was the idea,”

Diana doesn’t answer because there is nothing left for them to talk about. They might have had friendship once, but Artemis had set that aside. Diana lost her way. She is no longer an Amazon, not when she considers herself the Goddess of War after killing Ares himself. The Amazons are warriors, they fight for themselves and man, but they also should not instigate war or cause or aid the destruction of man themselves.

“ _As a rock on the seashore he standeth firm, and the dashing of the waves disturbeth him not. He raiseth his head like a tower on a hill, and the arrows of fortune drop at his feet. In the instant of danger, the courage of his heart sustaineth him; and the steadiness of his mind beareth him out_ ,”

“You? Reciting a passage from a book?” Diana scoffs, “Has a new age come to Amazons? Its greatest general who once loathed books and swears by the sword, now recites passages?”

Artemis stands firm, doesn’t move, doesn’t lower her head and looks down on Diana. “Alexa died reciting that passage and Persephone finished it for her when she killed our sister to free Ares. Remember it well, Diana. You wasted our sisters’ lives,” says Artemis, hoping that somehow, she can get Diana to find herself again.

“They were a necessary sacrifice to preserve the peace Kal and I granted this world,” Diana replies. “I killed Ares for inflicting and inciting rebellions, so he could not draw power from it. He’d caused enough trouble and I had no time to clean up his messes, for his childish games,”

“Shall I finish it, sister?” Artemis ignores Diana’s delusions. “ _He meeteth the evils of life as a man that goeth forth unto battle, and returneth with victory in his hand. Under the pressure of misfortunes, his calmness alleviates their weight; and, by his constancy, he shall surmount them. But the dastardly spirit of a timorous man, betrayeth him to shame. By shrinking under poverty, he stoopeth down to meanness; and by tamely bearing insults, he inviteth injuries_ ,”

“Will you, too, bore me to death with the rest of the book? As she bored you?”

“In that quote, Alexa found courage to face the unknown. You, Diana, you have no courage. You’re a coward, hiding behind the  _man_ ,” she spits the word out, “you claim you love, you claim to have loved you, enslaving the people you swore to protect, hiding in your tower in the sky like the tyrannical queen you are,”

“How dare you!” angered, Diana pulls on the chains, craving for a fight, to take Artemis down for insulting her character. “I am an Amazon! The world knelt at my feet!”

“You forced the world to kneel, Diana. You yourself have used your femininity to seduce and manipulate man to do your bidding, something you detested when you entered man’s world,”

“Kal and I had the power to make them kneel and they did! We gave them peace!” Diana’s voice rises. “And what have the Amazons achieved by remaining isolated on a magical island, to be untouched by the ravages of time? Other than be armored supermodels, preparing for a war that might not ever break out?”

“Your peace is a joke,” Artemis doesn’t know she’s repeating Luthor’s last words to Superman before he was murdered. “ _As a reed is shaken with the breath of the air, so the shadow of evil maketh him tremble. In the hour of danger, he is embarrassed and confounded; in the day of misfortune, he sinketh, and despair overwhelmeth his soul._ An Amazon you are no longer. This was how Persephone met her end, and I’m hoping it is not how you meet yours,”

As Artemis turns around to leave, Diana screams in outrage at her back as she watches her guard lock the door behind her general, pulling on the chains that held her in place, far from the thick, iron bars of her cell.

“Unbind me!” Diana yells. “Unbind me! If I cannot die an Amazon, fight me like the Amazon you claim you are! ARTEMIS!” through the small hatch on the door a distance away from the bars, she sees Artemis stop for a moment, then turn back around.

Diana hears the echoing of her voice through the stone walls of the dungeon.

“ _Indulge thyself not in the passion of anger; it is whetting a sword to wound thine own breast, or murder a friend_ ,”


	2. Chapter 2

There are a lot of differences between Bruce’s confinement in the Watchtower, his imprisonment at Blackgate and Stryker’s Island, and his stay at the Fortress.

After living in the Fortress for some months now, he discovers that it’s not as frigid as it looks and is more comfortable than it seems, even as he walks barefoot in the endless halls made of ice and crystal.

It doesn’t take long for him to get settled in, not after spending months in a prison cell much, much worse than the luxurious one he had on the Watchtower, and the ratty foam beds he used to sleep on in the makeshift headquarters of the resistance.

At Blackgate, just hours after he’s shoved into his cell, a doctor came in and drops the news of his pregnancy on him. She told him they’d take the children from him, to prevent another metahuman using their powers against earth. Then she told him she knew that he was nothing but a victim of the Regime. Bruce sent her out. Bruce knew she was right. But he sent her out.

He pushes the thought away and makes himself as comfortable as he can be at 35 weeks, in Clark’s gigantic bed. Clark’s not coming to bed yet since he’s taking care of their self-sustaining home, making last minute decisions on what to do in their solarium turned farm.

Clark used to use it to recharge after an exhausting battle, now it’s what grows what feeds the both of them, and of course Clark gets a little overcharged when he’s out in the sun. 

Being a farmer has always been Clark’s dream. To stay somewhere peaceful and quiet, in the middle of a field full of trees, greenery, and their crops, where he can spend hours under the sun, growing and cultivating crops, feeding his animals, and harvesting his produce. When the Watchtower fell, Clark had mentioned relocating him somewhere safer and better. Bruce knows Clark would’ve taken him to Kansas, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

What he does think about as he lies in bed, is how far their children inside him have come. They have a chance at being born at full term and Bruce is not excited to give birth at all. He wants to keep them in there as long as they want to be in there. He’d rather them be overdue. The thought makes him smile as he runs his hand over his domed belly.

“Stay in there,” he tells them before he closes his eyes.

Every night is a good night at the Fortress.

* * *

 

When Clark comes into the bedroom about half an hour later, Bruce is already asleep. He takes a quick shower to refresh and puts on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed. Bruce wakes and snuggles into Clark, who pulls the covers back over them.

Clark pulls Bruce as close as Bruce can be with the belly between them. He presses a kiss to Bruce’s temple and hears him ease back into sleep once more.

Sometimes, Clark thinks they can live out the rest of their lives like this, in the safety of the Fortress. But he knows nothing will become of them if they stay, but there’s also nothing out there in the world for them, unless he does something about it. There’s nothing Clark won’t do for them. Every so often, Clark finds himself feeling that there’s nothing left, but then Bruce pulls on the robes of his house, or comes into the solarium holding a tray of lemonade for him, or sees him rub his belly as he makes himself busy with whatever is available in the Fortress, and then he remembers that he’s never been any happier.

The domesticity of their life now reminds Clark of how they started. Coffees, stakeouts, just the quiet few hours of monitor duty that led to something else in their dormitories after their shift. About how Bruce was, is, and always will be, his light in the dark, and his hope for wanting better things for all four of them.

“I should’ve chosen you,” he quietly confesses to Bruce’s sleeping form as he listens to the pattern of his breathing and the fast beating hearts of their children. “Maybe that’s my biggest regret. Not choosing you,” he tells him this every night, when he’s sure Bruce is sleeping. He tells him things he’ll never admit out loud, things Bruce doesn’t know and have never heard before.

Clark stares at the ice ceiling.

“I should’ve chosen you,”

* * *

 

In the past, Bruce would never admit that he actually liked being in the Fortress of Solitude. It’s not really as frigid as it looks and it’s more comfortable than it seems. It’s also more decorated than the last time he remembers being there.

Being here.

He’s been living in the Fortress for months. He’s safe here, Clark assures him. Earth’s technology as it is now will never be able to find this place no matter how hard they try to find it. Bruce believes him.

What Bruce does around the Fortress to keep himself sharp is try to look after Clark when he’s not looking after Bruce. He also tries to tinker with Clark’s androids, a little reprogramming here and there, studying its AI, and using them to scout nearby countries to steal or buy provisions whenever it can. Strenuous activity is out of the question and Clark doesn’t let him help with the crops or the fishing.

It’s nearing noon and Bruce lets go of the book he’s holding to check on the pot he’s had rice keeping warm in. While they still have a ton of muskox meat Clark had brought home from a hunt a month ago, Bruce is expecting Clark to come back with something since he’s been out for quite some time.

Just in time with an hour or so to spare for cooking, Clark arrives with some fish he caught. Seeing Clark come back with a fresh catch always triggers the primitive instincts in Bruce. He has an alpha who is capable of much more than just working for money to give him a good life; his alpha is literally catching and growing their food.

“What do you want to do with these?” Clark asks as he cleans the fish, glancing at Bruce who’s setting the table.

“Steamed and with garlic would be nice,” says Bruce, “And two of your scouts came back earlier today with a bag of provisions. I haven’t finished reviewing the logs, but there’s a few pounds of rice in there, so I made pilaf using some stock I made from the ox bones,”

“That actually sounds pretty good,” Clark runs the knife through the fish to fillet it. “What else did the scouts bring back?”

Bruce sits at the table to relieve his back of some of the weight, but mostly so he can watch the muscles in Clark’s back as he works the meat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the view. “They brought back what I programmed them to: sticks of butter, bread, jam, herbs, a few seed packs, some bathroom essentials,” he says with a yawn.

Clark lets go of the knife and washes and dries his hands. “Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll take care of lunch,”

“A nap sounds great,” Bruce yawns again as Clark helps him up from the chair. “Can’t seem to keep awake lately,”

“I’m not surprised,” Clark decides to lift Bruce off the crystal floor and carry him to the bedroom.

“I can still walk you know,” Bruce tells him.

“I know,” says Clark, “But I want to, and your feet and back might appreciate a little downtime,”

“Mmm,” Bruce rests his head on Clark’s shoulder.

By the time Clark puts Bruce down on their bed, he’s already asleep. With gentle hands he lays Bruce down on his side to help ease the swelling of his feet, and puts a pillow underneath his belly and between his legs to keep him comfortable. He gives Bruce a quick kiss to his forehead, then heads back out to the kitchen to fix the food.

He tries not to think about how much he misses Bruce. Bruce doesn’t want to be touched, not after what happened at Stryker’s Island. Clark understands why and there’s nothing that can douse the flames of his anger. Not even the deaths of the perpetrators. For now, he tries not to think about the recent past. All he wants now is for Bruce and the children to be healthy, for his safe delivery.

But feels like Earth’s people hasn’t learned yet. They haven’t learned anything.

The fillets of fish are steaming in the pot when he hears it. Two individuals circling the vicinity of the Fortress. The Fortress is hidden in plain sight, under all the ice and water of the North Pole, and only two people know exactly where it is. Bruce and Diana.

Clark narrows his eyes in suspicion and doesn’t bother to see through the walls of the Fortress to identify the unwanted visitors.

“Superman!” they yell.

For a moment, Clark relaxes.

Cyborg and Black Adam. They were allies.

And then he decides he’s pissed. How dare they disturb his peace with Bruce. He turns back to the food and ignores them.

“We need your help!”

Clark scoffs.


	3. Chapter 3

Clark has the Fortress’s lights set to follow the brightness of the sun in the time zone Metropolis is in. Except for the bedroom, where the lights can be turned down and dimmed whenever they please, like now, when Bruce is taking a nap.

The lights turn up slightly to brighten up the room as Clark reaches for a dial near the threshold when he enters the room. The change in lighting doesn’t wake up the sleeping omega. He joins Bruce on the bed, and it is the way the bed moves with the additional weight that wakes Bruce.

“Hmm?” Bruce mumbles as he cracks his eyes open, then shuts them closed, finding the room too bright. “Wh’t’ms’t?”

“Just after two,” Clark answers. “You hungry?”

“Mhmm,” with a little effort, his belly making it difficult to move around, he snuggles in closer to Clark.

Clark presses a kiss to his hair. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm,” Bruce seemed to be too sleepy to form words.

To be fair, growing two children does sound as exhausting as it looks, especially when they’re half an alien species that get strength from the sun, and Bruce gets a lot of sun these days. Clark is grateful Bruce is fantastically healthy despite claiming exhaustion at all hours of the day, still looking beautifully plump, a blush permanently on his cheeks, and actually glowing.

“C’mon, Bruce,” Clark says gently, “We can’t let you skip meals,”

Bruce lets out a groan and peeks open his eyes. “I’m too sleepy to be hungry,”

“I still can’t let you skip a meal,”

The omega doesn’t answer immediately. “Okay,” he concedes. “Help me up, please?”

“Of course,” Clark peels himself off of Bruce, and lifts his mate off the bed, and sets him down on the edge of the bed to sit. “Feeling okay?” Clark kneels in between Bruce’s legs, smoothing his palms over Bruce’s thighs.

“Just tired and massive,” Bruce yawns. “But now that you’ve woken me up, I feel famished, too,”

“Alright, we can have lunch, and you can have a little walk around to get that food down, and you can go back to bed if you want,” Clark puts slippers on Bruce’s feet.

“I don’t think I want to go back to sleep,” says Bruce, leaning most of his weight on Clark as he gets up to his swollen feet. “Do we have enough to make cinnamon buns?” he asks as he sits at the table where the food is prepared.  

“I thought you hated cinnamon,” Clark remembers how Diana ordered a different meal plan for Bruce, how they got into one of their pettiest fights.  

“I did,”

“And now you want them?” he asks slowly, hoping the dumb question won’t get a sarcastic answer.

“Every pregnancy is different, Clark,” Bruce digs into his plate of rice and fish. “Do you know how to make them?” he asks hopefully.

“I do, but I haven’t made them in a while,”

The way Bruce’s face lights up from exhausted to thrilled makes Clark’s worries melt away.

“I would like to help. I’m sure they’ll turn out wonderful,”

“I’d like that,”

“I don’t do anything but be fat around here anyways,” Bruce takes another bite of the fish and a spoonful of the rice. “Might as well make my own cravings,”

This is Clark’s dream. It might not be the white picket fence he always dreamt of, but this is it. It had always been one of his dreams that the mailbox at the edge of their property toward the street would have Bruce’s name on it too. He still wants that to happen. One day, he will make it true, but for now, he’s happy where they are. He hopes Bruce is, too.

Bruce notices that Clark hasn’t started eating and looks up to see Clark just smiling fondly at him. “What?”

Clark gives a light shake of his head as an answer and starts on their lunch.

* * *

“Two visits in one week? How magnanimous of you, General,”

“I have no time for your games, Diana. Get up,” says Artemis. She turns to one of the soldiers, moving her head in a way that tells the soldier to do what was asked of her before they entered the cell.

The soldier nods and obeys, pulls out the keys and unlocks the door to Diana’s cell. Another soldier enters and throws a full set of armor before their prisoner. It is of copper plates and brown leather, a modified version of what their second lieutenant would wear, unlike the armor of red and blue she used to wear.

“Put it on, _now_ ,” Artemis barks at her.

Soldiers stand by, ready for her should she try to attempt something. But Diana doesn’t, though cautious, sheds her dirty tunic and puts on the armor. As soon as she attaches the last piece of armor onto her, a soldier moves forward and puts her in cuffs that chain her hands together.

Diana is escorted out of her prison, and brought to the edge of the island, to the beaches, without a single word of explanation from Artemis or the soldiers that accompany them. She sees her mother at the clearing, waiting by the shore, accompanied by someone whom Diana recognizes as one of their scholars.

“Diana,” Queen Hippolyta says lieu of a greeting.

“Mother,” Diana replies as the escorts lead her to face their queen.

Hippolyta reaches for Diana’s face and brushes a thumb over her daughter’s cheek, then quickly returns to her composure. “Unbind her,”

Artemis is the one who removes the chains, and she and the escorts take a few steps back to give Diana and Hippolyta space.

“A message arrives from man’s world,” she starts.

“And I am expected to defend it against this threat?” Diana interrupts, immediately assuming there is a danger to Earth.

“Should you agree to, yes,” Hippolyta nods.

Silence falls over them. Diana takes a good, long look at her mother, thinking over the proposition, knowing well that she will be returned to her prison once this is over.

“You will be granted your abilities back,” the queen continues, “however, once you and Earth’s titans overcome this threat, you shall be compelled to return to the island, your abilities will again be revoked,” (1)

Diana doesn’t expect to be given anything in return. She’s already made up her mind even before she assumed she’ll be imprisoned once again when this is all over. It’s not as if her sentence was presided by Themis herself. It’s not as if the scales of justice will tip in her favor when she accomplishes this task.

“When and where is my assistance demanded?”

“In Kahndaq, immediately,” Hippolyta waves a hand and the escorts move to hand over their shield and sword to Diana, who hooks the scabbard to her hip, and latches the shield onto her back. “Calliope,” she turns to the scholar next to her. “If you please,” (2)

The scholar steps forward.

“Present your bracelets,” says Hippolyta, and Diana raises her wrists toward the scholar. “This is a task for you from the gods, Diana. This spell was delivered by Hermes from Olympus. You cannot escape the enchantment,”

Calliope places her hands on the copper bracelets and murmurs an incantation. “ _Parere perferte laborem redire. Parere perferte laborem redire. Parere perferte laborem redire._ ” (3)

Diana feels the bracelets turn slightly warm, and when the scholar lets go, she feels herself become weightless as she begins to hover slightly off the ground. Her powers are back. She wants to try and overpower Artemis, but finds herself unable to move.

“May you succeed in this quest, daughter,”

Diana looks down at Hippolyta and doesn’t bother to answer as she flies away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I used the word “titans” instead of “heroes” or “guardians” or “defenders” to refer to the metas and former members of the disbanded Justice League because they are no longer Earth’s protectors, and just because they will defend Earth, doesn’t mean they won’t enslave it once more, and because “titan” can mean something or someone with immense power. They do not refer to the Titans Dick had assembled. 
> 
> (2) Calliope was the Greek muse of epic poetry.
> 
> (3) I used Google Translate for this Latin. It simply means, “Obey, complete your task and return.”

**Author's Note:**

> (1) I’m merging the Injustice Ares to the Ares of Wonder Woman 2009. Let’s just say that Ares of WW 2009 did some shit and Diana ended up killing him in Injustice 1, making Diana herself the new Goddess of War, as she had claimed in Injustice 2, where Ares does not reappear. I’M SO SORRY TO BE SO CONFUSING I JUST WANT TO WRITE IT.
> 
> please leave comment i love comments 
> 
> comments are what actually write the story you know


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